Earth Almanac: September/October 2008

Poke’s Peak

As the growing season slows and the coolness of Indian summer settles from cobalt skies, pokeweed seems to leap out from meadow, fencerow, and roadside. Throughout the East and in the far West north to Oregon, this fast-growing perennial herb is suddenly about as tall as you, and its once-drab berry clusters have gone from green to spectacular purple. Birds, especially robins, towhees, mockingbirds, mourning doves, catbirds, and bluebirds, feast on this fruit, spreading seeds in their droppings and decorating your car, sidewalk, and outside furniture with purple stains. (Rain and sun sometimes removes them better than soap and water.)

Concoctions from sundry parts of the plant are said to soothe the sore nipples of nursing mothers and ease symptoms of autoimmune diseases, tonsillitis, mumps, glandular fever, sprains, and cancer. Red pigment from the berries has been used as dye and ink. And in much of the plant’s range, young shoots and leaves, collected earlier in the year when they’re less toxic, are boiled with two water changes and eaten like spinach. Soon pokeweed may die back to the roots, and poke enthusiasts can dig and dice them, then cultivate a new supply of tender shoots in their cellars.

Carrion Committees

Throughout our cooler states turkey vultures are staging for migration, sometimes in huge aggregations known as “casts,” “committees,” “meals,” “vortexes,” or “wakes.” In impressive numbers you’ll see them in the South, too, as they ride thermals or orbit over carrion, wobbling on dihedral wings.

If Boris Karloff had produced Sesame Street, Big Bird would have been a turkey vulture. What can one say about a fowl that defecates on its legs (to cool itself or maybe kill bacteria); that, unlike most other birds, has a keen sense of smell that helps it home in on gas produced by decay; that may be seen peering down your chimney in search of body parts it has accidentally dropped into your fireplace; that woos mates by grunting; that hisses when threatened; that hoses down attackers with projectile vomit, and, if that fails, plays possum? Well, National Park Service biologist Elaine Leslie, who has worked extensively with turkey vultures, says this: “I did not feel truly indoctrinated as a biologist until literally sprayed with eau de parfum de decay—an experience that fostered my admiration and appreciation of this fine bird.

How can one not love and respect this sadly misunderstood bird of the New World? Okay—so you’re bald, pee on yourself, and gorge on dead and decaying flesh, and quite often you literally cannot get off the ground because of your greed. But you venture through your life free of disease, you are graceful in flight, your stork and ibis relatives are relatively revered. And your special way of surprising your assailants by regurgitating your putrid last meal—well, we could all learn from this gentler, kinder means of warfare! You are protected by international migratory bird treaties, and this protection you well deserve!”

Such appreciation for turkey vultures, particularly as it pertains to their role as sanitation crew, was once more common. For example, the bird’s scientific name, Cathartes aura, means “golden purifier.” And the Pueblo Indians, who considered the bird a symbol of purification, found its feathers useful for whisking evil humors from people and objects.